Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things
by I'm Truly Clueless
Summary: Blaine Anderson—sorry, Brynn Rider—was just trying to hide from that damn horse. And Kurt—well, he just wants to get out of his tower. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, but that's not the point.
1. Prologue

Fic: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (1/12)

Title: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (1/12)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Glee: none, Tangled: whole film

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,003

Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor Tangled, they belong to their respective owners.

Summary: Blaine Anderson—_sorry_, Brynn Rider—was just trying to hide from that _damn horse_. And Kurt—well, he just wants to get out of his tower. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, but that's not the point.

A/N: So. This chapter is a little short, and a little boring. I just need to set the scene and then the next chapter will be coming soon. I hope. Anyway, this IS A TANGLED CROSSOVER. If you haven't seen Tangled, I suggest watching it first. Thanks to Muchacha10 on dA for some of the ideas!

_This is the story of how I died._

_Ok, that's a total lie. This story isn't actually about me, at all. It's a story about friendship and new discoveries and—_

_Ow. Ow. Please don't do that, Pav._

_This is a story about a boy. A boy named Kurt. And it starts with the sun._

_Once upon a time, a long long time ago, a drop of sun fell from the heavens to a rocky, uneven cliff below. And from this drop of sun grew a magical, beautiful plant. This plant had many different qualities, depending on the song sang to it, but its main ability was to heal the sick. _

_Oh! Look, it's the old woman. You don't really need to remember her; like I said, this story is about Kurt. _

_Anyway. Centuries passed, and a majestic city sprung up on a nearby island. It was governed by a kind, just king and queen. And the queen was expecting, like, _really _expecting. But she got sick. Real, real sick. And when someone you love like the subjects of their kingdom loved her, you start looking for miracles. Or rather, more specifically, the magical beautiful plant._

_What I just said made no sense. Anyway, they looked for the plant._

_Aha, it's the old woman. Ok, I lied, you probably need to remember her._

_So, instead of being a good, caring citizen like me, she refused to share the powers of the plant, and used it to keep herself young and pretty for centuries. But believe me, she didn't look all that good anyway. Anyway, this woman, she would sing to the flower, and it would restore her youth. Creepy, right?_

_But she wasn't quiiiite careful enough. When she fled from the soldiers, her lamp knocked the basket covering the plant—and it tipped off the edge of the cliff, leaving it free to be found. And found it was. _

_The flower was made into a magical, beautiful, potion, and when the queen drank it she recovered miraculously. A healthy, beautiful baby boy was born, with beautiful hair that was neither brown nor blonde. I'm sure you already know who this is. That's right—that was Kurt. _

_In celebration of his birth, the king and queen released a singing lantern into the sky. Yes, you heard me right. I did say singing lantern. No, I don't know how they work. Look, if drops of sun can fall from the sky, lanterns can sing. _

_Anyway. For that one moment, everything was perfect._

_And then that moment ended. God, that sounds so bad. So cliché. I hate being cliché. _

_The old woman stole into Kurt's room during the night and sang the song quietly, quietly. Sure enough, Kurt's hair, short as it was, glowed in the darkness of the room. The old woman took out her scissors, and she chopped off a lock of his hair. But as soon as it parted from Kurt, it's strange colour faded and was replaced by a normal, light brown. _

_The king and queen woke as soon as they heard their child crying, but by then it was too late. The old woman was gone—and Kurt was gone with her._

_The kingdom searched high and low and high again, but they could find no trace of the lost prince. Deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, the old woman raised the child as her own._

_I don't get how they didn't find that tower. I mean, guys, it was just behind some ivy, dammit! Are you that unobservant?_

_But it didn't last. One day, while travelling in the bordering kingdom of Dalton, the old woman was barricaded into a city under quarantine. Desperate, she gave the location to the tower to a young boy called Dave Karofsky. She instructed Dave to bring Kurt to her, to heal her, but as soon as Dave saw the ten-year-old child and understood what wealth his hair could bring, he stayed right there and told Kurt that the old lady had gone away._

_She died in the city._

_Now, after this I don't know what happened. It's mostly guesswork. Guesswork and Wesley Montgomery. But mostly guesswork._

_Dave was young, and strong. There was no reason for him to need Kurt's hair. So, after some extensive research, he tracked down a woman who sold him a different song, a song that gave _strength. _Legend says that woman was called Sue Sylvester and sang her songs to small animals, which resulted in their death and her ability to expand her muscles to twice their original size on demand._

_And then, when Kurt turned fourteen, Dave started seeing him differently. He decided that Kurt belonged to him, and only him. He could never leave the tower. He spun long, scary stories about the things people would make Kurt do as the younger boy brushed his hair every evening, to make sure that Kurt would never, ever leave him._

_But he couldn't hide everything from Kurt. _

_Every year, on Kurt's birthday, the king and queen would release hundreds of the singing lanterns into the sky, in the hope that one day their lost prince would return. And every year, Kurt would sneak out of his bed, dragging his hair behind him, and he would watch the lights and listen to the voices and wonder if maybe, just maybe, those voices were calling to him._

_I'm so sentimental. And so nice. I just told you an entire story and I didn't mention myself once. Not even the time when—_

_Ow. Ow. Don't do that, Pav. Ok, I won't tell them that story._

_But this story isn't about me. It was never about me. And I shouldn't even pretend it's about me. _

_It's about Kurt. Kurt is where it starts, and Kurt is where it ends. Of course, I fill the bits in between, make the story funny and become rather dashing, if I do say so—_

_Yes. Right. On to the story then. So, not too long ago..._


	2. Chapter 1

Fic: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (2/12)

Title: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (2/12)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Glee: none, Tangled: whole film

Warnings: Vague violence, Dave being a bit of an idiot.

Word Count: 1,839

Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor Tangled, they belong to their respective owners.

Summary: Blaine Anderson—_sorry_, Brynn Rider—was just trying to hide from that _damn horse_. And Kurt—well, he just wants to get out of his tower. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, but that's not the point.

A/N: So, this is the second chapter! Now we actually get to meet some characters :D I hope you guys like it! Un-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine 

"Oh, Pavarotti!"

A lanky, long-haired figure dropped from the rafters of the ancient tower and crumpled into a heap on the floor. He leapt up again quickly, brushing dust from his knees and looking around.

"Pavarotti? Pav?"

Sighing, the boy stomped over to the open shutters and stuck his head outside. "_Pavarotti!_ I was calling you!"

The little yellow Warbler cheeped and fluttered towards the boy's head, wheeling around once or twice and then dipping to perch on his shoulder. He nipped affectionately at the boy's ear and settled himself down comfortably.

"Ok, Pav, I spent a long time on this, so you have to tell me if it's good. Ok?"

The bird twittered and shook itself.

"Alright. So, this is called...well, I haven't named it yet. But I will. Anyway, it's called Unnamed, and it's by Kurt I-don't-know-my-last-name-but-I-think-it's-Karofsky. You ready?"

The warbler gave a bored whistle. Kurt shook out the paper and stood up straight.

"_Seven am, the usual morning line-up,"_ he sang, uncertainly starting a few hesitant steps around the room, "_Start on the chores, and sweep 'til the floor's all clean! Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up, sweep again and by then it's like seven twenty—"_

Pavarotti gave a disproving tweet and Kurt paused. "No? What about seven fifteen?"

The bird bobbed in a motion that was probably the same as a nod and Kurt smiled, starting his twirling dance and continuing the song.

"_And so I'll read a book, or maybe two or three, I'll add a few more drawings to my gallery—"_

Kurt's dance increased in speed until he was whirling around the room, skilfully avoiding tripping over his hair and jumping random articles of clothing lying on the floor until a peach scarf caught his feet and he tripped.

"_And then I'll brush and brush and brush my—agh!"_

Pavarotti jumped into the air above Kurt's head and wheeled above him slowly, waiting for the boy to get up off the floor.

"Ow," Kurt groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his elbows where they were a little scratched. The bird chirped and settled on the chair above him as Kurt pulled himself upright.

"So," he laughed lightly, "I don't think I should try that again, huh Pav? Maybe I should get on to drawing instead."

Pavarotti cheeped and flew over to the window, landing unsteadily on one of the loose slats of the shutters. He jerked his head towards the horizon.

"I know, Pav, I know," Kurt sighed, "It's tonight. I've been thinking about asking Dave if I can go. I mean, I'm almost eighteen, right? I can take care of myself."

Kurt wandered over to the window. "I can take care of myself. Right, Pav?"

The bird tweeted quietly and dug his toes into Kurt's shirt, pulling him towards the desk covered in paper and pencils. Kurt rubbed his nose and sat down on the rickety chair, shifting slightly and making the wood creak.

"Ok, Pav, I was thinking I would work on the—_gah_!"

The chair collapsed under Kurt and he fell to the floor, pulling half of the sheets with him. Pavarotti jumped to the desk and perched there calmly, watching as Kurt untangled himself from the splintered remains of the chair and glared at the mess scattered over the wooden floorboards.

"Today," he snarled, "Is not my day. I can't believe—"

"_Kurt! Kurt! Let down your hair!"_

Kurt's head snapped up and he scrambled to pick up the sheets from the floor.

"Pav, give me a hand," he whispered, piling them onto the desk, "Dave hates it when I leave the floor a mess, and it's my birthday tomorrow! I need to get on his good side!"

"_Kurt! Hurry the hell up!_"

Kurt whimpered and shoved the rest of the papers under the desk, sprinting to the window and throwing countless, golden-brown loops of hair out. Before he could slide the rest into the hoop that made it easier to haul Dave up, his neck jerked painfully as his hair was yanked down.

"Ow," he hissed, frantically bouncing onto his toes in order to slide the hair through the loop. After three tries he made it, hauling on the makeshift rope with shaky arms.

"Kurt, _honey_," Dave said scathingly as he stepped out of the loop of hair and into the room, "I don't understand why you don't pull me up faster. You've got all this arm strength, why don't you put it to good use?"

David Karofsky was a huge man, and by huge I mean _huge_. He stood at six-one, and towered over Kurt's measly five-ten. He was muscled to the point of it being strange, the way veins bulged from under his burned skin. His hair lay flat against his forehead, and his eyes were small and glared out at you menacingly, apart from when he looked at Kurt. His face was wide, with a thick neck sloping into wide, boulder-like shoulders.

Kurt smiled nervously. "S-sorry, Dave, I fell on my shoulder today. I think I might need some—"

Dave clapped him on his shoulder and Kurt flinched. "You're so clumsy, babe. So, guess what I bought today?"

Kurt shrugged, a smile lighting up his face. He _loved _it when Dave bought him surprise presents, even if he wasn't sure he could hold it right now. His arms were still shaking from the exertion of hauling Dave up the tower.

"Um, Dave, could I talk to you about something—"

Dave flexed his bicep and Kurt wrinkled his nose a little. Sure, muscles are nice, but in abundance they're also kinda gross.

"Kurt, sweetie, Dave's feeling a little run-down. Why don't you do some singing and then I can tell you what I bought you?"

Kurt grimaced, because now he'd _never_ get to ask. "Um, ok. Wait _riiiight _there."

He dashed across the room and hauled the old armchair over with unsteady arms. In front of that he placed a stool and then he steered Dave over to it, already humming under his breath.

As usual, he could hear Dave mumbling under his breath as he sang. Kurt ignored it and concentrated on getting through the song as quickly as possible without his voice cracking. Once he was finished, Dave stood up with a happy sigh and stretched, his back clicking loudly and making Kurt feel uncomfortable.

"Ok!" he announced, "So, I was going to tell you earlier, but—"

"Kurt, I bought you some new gunk!" Dave announced proudly, holding out the pot. Kurt took it gingerly and resisted the urge to tell him that this wasn't 'gunk', it was face cream.

"Thank you, Dave," he said, inching closer, "So, like I was saying..."

Dave was flexing his muscles again, looking at himself in the mirror. "Uh-huh, honey-bun?"

Kurt mimed gagging to Pavarotti, who tweeted quietly. As much as Kurt loved Dave, the constant nicknames were embarrassing. He was seventeen, for gods sakes!

"So, um, it's a really really big day for me tomorrow..." Kurt took a deep breath, "It's my birthday! And so, I was wondering if—"

"Kurt," Dave frowned, "I've already got you a birthday present. That gunk."

Kurt's shoulders slumped. "But—but—it's not even good gunk, I mean, face cream. And this is a really big birthday, Dave, I'm going to be eighteen!"

Dave stopped his flexing and turned to face Kurt. "What do you want, then? I can get you more gunk. Or that weird stuff you put on your legs."

"Hairy legs are ugly," Kurt grumbled, "And actually, I had something really specific in mind."

"Yeah? A special kind of gunk?"

"Actually..." Kurt backed up and grabbed a picture off his desk, "I really really want you to take me to see the singing lights?"

Dave's face screwed up like a crumpled piece of paper and then smoothed out again. "You mean the canaries?"

"What?"

"The canaries. Big, yellow birds that sing?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I've got a book on birds, and I _know_ that none grow big enough to see from that kind of distance. Plus, I studied all their migrating habits, and no species of bird migrates just in one day. One night, even. It's every year, on my birthday, Dave, and I just want to see them _once."_

Dave raised an eyebrow. "You want to go _outside_?"

"Well—"

"Oh, Kurt. Look at you, breakable little thing. You can't go outside alone, you'll get hurt!"

Kurt sighed. "But you'd be with me..."

Dave pulled the collar of Kurt's shirt slowly over his shoulder, exposing the nasty bruise from falling out of the rafters that morning. "You bruise like a peach," he said, stroking the darkened skin, "Within a few hours you'd be virtually unrecognisable."

"But—"

"Shh, Kurt. Remember, _Davie_ knows best!"

Dave swung Kurt in a circle, the thinner boy tripping over his own hair in the process and sprawling on the floor.

"You know what's out there, don't you Kurt?"

"Not really," Kurt spat dust out of his mouth and tried to get up.

"It's a scary world out there, honey!" Dave picked him up was if her were nothing but a twig and placed him on the table.

"Ruffians and thugs," he listed, "Poison ivy, quicksand, cannibals, snakes, the plague—"

"No, but—"

"Yes! Also large bugs, men with pointy teeth and—"

"Stop it, Dave, it's really not funny!"

Dave pulled him roughly down from the table and Kurt almost somersaulted, landing in such a way that made his ankle twinge. Dave smirked.

"It's alright, I understand," he laughed, and Kurt pushed his hair out of his face helplessly as Dave spun him around.

"You wouldn't last a minute, Kurt, just look at you! Sloppy, underdressed—" Kurt pulled the shoulder of his shirt up again, blushing, "—immature, clumsy, please—they'll eat you up a like a hawk eats a warbler!"

Kurt cast a nervous glance at Pavarotti.

"You don't even have any _shoes—_"

"That's because you never buy me any!" Kurt snapped, pulling away and grabbing a lock of hair from Dave's hand.

"Kurt, don't you dare snap at me," Dave said, his tone changing from light and teasing to dark and sinister.

"Why won't you let me out?" Kurt shouted, "I'm nearly eighteen, Dave! I can't stay here forever!"

"Yes, you can!" Dave shouted back, his hands slamming into Kurt's shoulders hard enough to make him fall.

Kurt let out a little, strangled sob as he crumpled, and Dave's face went white.

"Look—look what you made me do! Look!" he snarled, turning on his heel and grabbing his cloak from where it was lying on the ground.

Kurt felt a tug as his hair was thrown out of the window, and then his head jerked back and he was dragged across the floor as Dave slid down it.

Helpless, Kurt grabbed onto anything he could to keep himself stationary until his shoulders lodged painfully under the windowseat, sticking there and keeping him firmly anchored to the floor, even as his neck was pulled at an odd angle against the edge of the old wood. The pressure stopped a few seconds after that, allowing Kurt to lift his head from its painful position and rub the back of his neck.

Curling his knees to his chest, he let out a strangled sob. He was stuck here. He'd tried his best, and he'd failed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N number 2: So, I hope you guys liked this version of Dave? I tried to make him...less mindlessly violent. Also, these chapters will get longer, I promise—it's hard to make everything make sense and keep it long without going into too much detail, gah D:

I'm also sorry this took so long. I had exams and then my dad was in hospital twice in two months, and I was just like AJKSHKSDH I want to write but I don't have TIEMM.

So. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and I'll see you in the next chapter!

~smooshy


	3. Chapter 2

Fic: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (3/12)

Title: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (3/12)

Author: smooshysushi

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Glee: none, Tangled: whole film

Warnings: Blaine's antisocial behaviour.

Word Count: 2,368

Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor Tangled, they belong to their respective owners.

Summary: Blaine Anderson—_sorry_, Brynn Rider—was just trying to hide from that _damn horse_. And Kurt—well, he just wants to get out of his tower. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, but that's not the point.

A/N: Third chapter! We're a quarter of the way through, guys :D

Blaine Anderson was _not_ good at free running.

The wind forcefully whipped his hair around his face as he skidded down the tiled roof, his hands flailing to keep his balance. His foot hit the gutter at an odd angle, propelling him across the gap between buildings, and he hit the next roof with a thump and a pained cry.

Next to him, Dustin Gooslby narrowly missed stamping on his fingers and Jeremiah Worville stopped beside Blaine, hauling him upright and brushing some lint from his shoulder.

"You ok, Brynn?" he asked, smiling. Blaine blushed and coughed, reminding himself that he wasn't Blaine anymore. He was Brynn Rider, thief extraordinaire.

"I'm fine, thanks," he smiled, and winced internally when his voice came out about three octaves too high.

"Ok, awesome," Jeremiah gently removed Blaine's hands from where they'd settled on his shoulders and started towards the skylight, leaving Blaine standing on the edge of the roof, rubbing his elbows nervously.

"Hurry up, Rider!" Goolsby snapped, beckoning Blaine over. He jogged towards the older man, carefully focusing on the skylight and not the fact that he was about to carry out an operation that, if caught, could get him _killed_. He was only nineteen.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine grabbed the rope and looped it around his chest and under his arms, tying it tight across his ribs.

"Are you sure this is safe?" he whispered as Jeremiah prised the old skylight open.

"Absolutely," Goolsby said confidently, "As safe as the buckles on my custom-made leather jacket."

Blaine glanced at the jacket.

"Those buckles don't close."

"Get in the damn skylight."

Blaine gulped and gave the knot one last tug before he sat on the edge of the drop and pushed himself in slowly. There was a terrifying moment where neither of them were holding him properly and he freefell, both hands wrapped tight around the rope, until they pulled him to a stop halfway down and lowered him at a reasonable rate. He landed quiet as a cat, just behind the circle of guards.

Blaine's heart was still pounding when he removed the crown from its velvet cushion and slid it into his leather satchel, gripping it tight to his chest. A sneeze tickled in his nose and he wrinkled it, his feet dangling just off the ground as Jeremiah and pulled him back up.

He sneezed.

"Bless you," a guard said absent-mindedly, and Blaine wiped his nose.

"Thanks."

"Hayfever?"

"Yeah, it sucks," Blaine grabbed the edge of the skylight and clambered out just as the guard looked up and yelped.

"Hey! Hey! Wait—quick! Catch them!"

Blaine's fingers were shaky as he undid the rope and dropped it to the floor, following his two companions back over the rooftops and down onto the streets below.

They were reasonably busy, people already out doing their daily business. Blaine fought through the crowds, finding it tricky to keep up with Jeremiah and Goolsby due to his, uh, height issue. He just found it hard to keep track of people, ok? Especially when everyone in this kingdom was so damn _tall_.

Finally, finally, they escaped out onto the bridge and Blaine caught up, a smile spreading over his face as adrenaline pounded in his veins. An exhilarated whoop escaped his mouth and he vaulted the wall leading to the forest, punching the air.

"I did it! I did it!" he cheered, doing a small victory dance as he ran and nearly punching Jeremiah in the face. "Oh my god—I'm sorry, are you ok? I didn't mean to—"

Jeremiah batted his outstretched hand away and kept running. "Shut up, Rider. Just keep running."

Blaine frowned and upped his pace a little, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he tried to keep up with the two men, both of which had much longer legs than him. Slowly but surely, he fell further and further behind as they ran ahead of him.

Eventually, Blaine stopped by a tree to catch his breath, doubled over as the air rasped through his overworked lungs. Turning to face Jeremiah and Goolsby, a white(ish) sheet of paper caught his eye and he stopped to look closer.

"Oh my god!"

"What?" Goolsby jumped and turned to face Blaine, "What is it, Rider?"

"Look at this!" Blaine jabbed a finger at the picture, "Look at what they've done! They just _cannot_ get my eyebrows right! Look at them, they're like tiny baby chipmunks!"

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious right now?"

Blaine gestured at the other two wanted posters. "Look at you guys, you look great! You actually...resemble your real-life-selves."

"_There they are!"_ someone shouted, and Blaine turned to see a group of horsemen at the top of a small cliff, looking down at them

Jeremiah swore. "Brynn, hurry up! Let's go!"

Blaine shoved the poster into his bag and set off as fast as he could urge his aching muscles, his throat stinging with the rasp of his breathing. The forest path, which had previously seemed so smooth and easy to run on, now appeared to be attempting to make him fall and break his neck every three steps.

"Hurry the hell up, Rider," Goolsby called as they rounded a corner, and Blaine ducked his head and focused on not tripping over his own feet. Which is why he didn't notice that his two, uh, _comrades_ had stopped dead in front of a large cliff.

"A dead end," Blaine panted, pointing at the wall of rock, "That's not good."

The echo of horses and the men that came with them rolled out of the undergrowth behind them, and Jeremiah slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Well, dammit. We're really screwed now, aren't we?"

Blaine looked between the two thugs, then up at the cliff. It was big enough for him to be able to get up with their help, but not for them to get up without him helping them. If he could get up there, and keep hold of the crown...

He could get out of here without them. He could get to Westerville.

Blaine leaned against the rock and tipped his head back. "Ok, ok. I have an idea. You guy...you guys help me climb up, and I'll pull you up after me. Deal?"

Goolsby looked at him.

"Hand over the bag," he demanded, holding out his hand. Jeremiah nodded behind him, arms crossed.

_Damn it._

Blaine sighed. "Really? After all the chances I've had to split from you guys, you really think I'd do it now? After all we've been through?"

They looked at him with identical expressions of hand-the-goddamn-bag-over-idiot.

Blaine sighed again.

"Fine. I don't understand why you think you can't trust me, but if that's what you want..."

He pulled the satchel over his head and tossed it to Goolsby, who tucked it into his belt and sighed. "Jeremiah, get over here. I'm not letting you put your disgusting shoes all over my jacket."

Blaine watched resignedly as the two thieves managed to organise themselves into some kind of human pyramid. Once they're mostly stable, he scrambled up Jeremiah's back and planted his foot squarely on the mopheads shoulder, mumbling an apology as he worked at unhooking the bag.

"Hey, Rider, what are you—_hey! Get back here!"_

He used Goolsby's shoulder to vault onto the top of the cliff and winked. "Sorry, guys. I think I can safely say that _I_ need this more than _you._ Seriously though Jeremiah, I am actually sorry."

And he ran.

Goolsby screamed after him, some kind of profanity, and Blaine just laughed and ran faster, windmilling his arms as he shot around the corner. The ground _vibrated_ under his feet as the group of horsemen thundered after him, screaming instructions at each other.

Blaine pushed past the ache in his ribs and the burn in his legs and—

_OHMYGODARROWS._

He flipped over a log and ducked behind it, avoiding being shot though by a bunch of sharp pointy things, and took off down the track. Behind him he heard more arrows being loaded and turned a sharp corner, his legs struggling to keep up with the speed he needed to travel at. Leaping the gap between two branches of a crooked tree, he grinned triumphantly when the number of horses chasing him dwindled to one.

"We've got him now, Puckerman!"

Blaine risked a glance over his shoulder as he leapt a rock—and tripped.

Flailing, he grabbed onto the closest thing, which happens to be a large vine. His momentum from the jump sent him whirling the tree it was growing from, legs flailing helplessly as his hands slipped. Then one boot connected with something soft and he slammed onto something hard and leathery. Namely, the saddle of the leading horse.

"Oh holy—"

The horse jerked to a halt and his face smashed into its neck, the satchel flying off his shoulder for one heart-stopping second before it snagged on his wrist. Panting, Blaine grabbed the reins and shook them.

"Go on! Trot! Uh...giddy up! C'mon, horsey, forward!"

The horse turned and gave him one of the most terrifying looks he had ever been subjected to. And then it twisted its neck and snapped at the bag.

"What? No. No. I said _no, get off, get off! Give—it—to—me—!"_

They whirled dangerously as the horse tried to catch up to the bag, all the while making horrible snorting noises light some kind of demented train, and Blaine tried to get away from the horse while shouting at the top of his voice. Eventually, the horrible thing caught the leather in its teeth, pulling hard with a devilish grin on its face. Blaine pulled harder, bracing his feet on the thing's (because face it, this animal was not a horse. It was a _demon.)_ neck and putting his back into it until—

_SNAP_

—the bag jerked from Blaine's hands at the same time as the horse's teeth slipped. The satchel went flying merrily over the grass and landed in a tree hanging off the edge of a cliff.

Blaine didn't wait to see what the horse would do—oh no, he decided instead to use its face to push off the saddle and _sprint_ towards the tree. Of course, as the demon horse had four legs it overtook him in about two seconds, so Blaine tackled one of its legs and brought it down flat on its overly-long face. He then left a bootprint on the face in his haste, which resulted in his foot being caught in the demon horse's teeth and falling flat on his (not overly-long) face. The horse pranced past him, and Blaine picked himself up and leapfrogged onto its back, scrambling over to its face and accidentally ramming his hand up one of its nostrils, which only served to make it angrier.

Tossing its head, the horse sent Blaine flying, and only luck and extraordinarily good reflexes saved him from falling to his death. He ended up hanging underneath the tree like some kind of overgrown monkey, peering up at the demon horse from the side.

A hoof came down horribly close to his fingers and Blaine began to crawl upside-down along the underside of the branch as fast as he could, all too aware that he was one slip away from falling very, very far.

Throwing himself at the branch where the bag was hanging, Blaine managed to hook it on his toe and grab it (not very hard, there wasn't much distance between his toe and his hand), brandishing the bag in the demon horse's face and shouting "_Ha!"_

Before he could say anything else that was extremely witty and hilarious, the branch broke.

At that moment (and at a few other moments after that one), both he and the horse were united in their screaming as they plummeted to their deaths from the edge of the cliff. And then Blaine was alone as they hit a rock and the tree broke apart, sending him spinning off into the stratosphere accompanied only by a completely useless leather satchel.

His fall was broken by trees.

_That's funny, _Blaine thought, dazed, _I didn't think there were trees in the stratosphere._

Some sense was knocked into him at the same time the wind was knocked out of him—when he hit the ground behind a helpfully placed boulder. A few moments later he heard a rather unsettling snuffling noise as _something_ shuffled past, and Blaine crept backwards towards the ivy draped across the stone behind him. Or at least, the stone that _should_ have been behind him, but wasn't any more, because as soon as he put his weight on it he fell through.

The noise of his falling (a yelp, a thump, and then some quiet moaning) was enough to draw back the _thing_, and Blaine scrambled back in time to see the demon horse strike an intimidating pose in front of the ivy, hold it for a few seconds, and then plant his nose on the floor and start snuffling again.

_Wait,_ Blaine's brain said, _since when did horses snuffle along the ground?_

Blaine pushed the thought aside for later and set off in the opposite direction, out of the should-have-been-stone-but-was-really-a-cave cave and into the sunlight, securing the satchel across his shoulders. Three steps into the sun and he looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of a decrepit old tower standing by the edge of a sparkling brook.

"Blai—Brynn Rider," he said cheerfully, "This is your lucky day."

The tower could have been taller, really, because it didn't take long for Blaine to scale. A couple of arrows that had got lodged in his belt at some point fit into the gaps in the stone well, and the overgrown ivy worked as a reliable foothold. Eventually, he grabbed hold of the window ledge and hauled himself through the open window, collapsing onto the ground. Picking himself up, he brushed off his jacket and opened the satchel.

"Goddamit, you better be worth what they say you're worth—"

_CLANG._

Pain exploded in the back of his head and he passed out.


	4. Chapter 3

Fic: Of Pavarotti and Other Golden Things (4/12)

Author: smooshysushi (I'm Truly Clueless)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Glee: none, Tangled: whole film

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Word Count: 2,877

Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor Tangled, they belong to their respective owners.

Summary: Blaine Anderson—_sorry_, Brynn Rider—was just trying to hide from that _damn horse_. And Kurt—well, he just wants to get out of his tower. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, but that's not the point.

A/N: Wow, it's been a while. Sorry to people who were watching for this fic, RL got in my way as per usual. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy the chapter!

Kurt held his saucepan tight in both hands and poked the boy's ribs with a toe. He didn't respond, and Pavarotti twittered lightly from his shoulder.

"_What do I do?_" Kurt whispered, "_Do I push him out of the window?_"

Pavarotti made a disapproving noise.

Kurt huffed and planted his hands on his hips, tucking the pan under his arm, "What am I supposed to do then? I mean, it's not every day that a curly haired, short, strangely attractive boy falls through my window. Maybe I should keep him?"

Pavarotti fluttered down from Kurt's shoulder and tugged at the boy's mouth. He made a curious noise that was somewhere along the lines of a growl and opened his beak.

"Don't be stupid, Pav, I sincerely doubt he's a cannibal. Just look at him. He's so..._innocent._"

Pav hopped around and examined the unconscious boy with a beady, squinted eye. Kurt did the same (Except his eyes were neither beady nor squinted) and shuffled a little closer, reaching out with the pan to poke gently at the boy's face.

Hazel eyes opened and a small, pained voice said "_Ow._"

Kurt smacked him again. Once the clang had finished reverberating around the tower room, Kurt tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and crouched down, using his pinky finger to move the curls off the boy's face.

"_Oh_," he said, tilting his head, "Well. Ok then. Maybe I should just put him back outside and he can go back to where he came from—" he cut himself off as an idea bloomed in his mind.

"Oh," Kurt breathed, "Oh, I am a _genius_. Pav, he's from outside here, right? So he can take me to the city to see the floating lights, don't you think?"

Pavarotti chirped thoughtfully and launched into the air, landing on one of the manikins holding an elaborately designed dress. Kurt crawled along the floor and picked up the satchel from where it was lying by the window. "And I can bribe him with this, look! It's a—_oh my god_, it's so pretty, I'm keeping it."

Kurt placed the delicate crown onto his head and stood to look in the mirror, angling it perfectly and groaning in frustration when it caught on his hair. He'd let it grow too long, if only he could persuade Dave to let him cut it accessorising would be a hell of a lot easier. But, of course, he couldn't—then he'd lose all of his powers and he _needed _them. Dave told him he'd die without them.

Kurt sighed and removed the crown, placing it back in the satchel and hanging the bag on the stairs. He eyed the boy in the middle of the floor and trudged across the worn floorboards, checking the clock as he went.

"Or maybe I could use him to show Dave I could really take care of myself. Not every average seventeen year old can take out someone with a saucepan, right? But I should probably...I don't know. Hide him? I should probably—"

"_Kurt! Kurt! Let down your hair!_"

Kurt froze for a moment and then leapt forwards, grabbing the boy under his arms and dragging him towards his closet. Hooking the door open with his bare foot, he tossed him inside and, with a whispered apology to his clothes, dropped a collection of shirts on top of him.

"_Kurt, c'mon!_"

Slamming the doors closed, Kurt ran across the floor and threw his hair out of the window, wincing at the thought of the dust and dirt that would get in it, and prepared to haul Dave back up.

His shoulders were complaining loudly once the bulky man was safely inside the tower and he forced a smile as he was enveloped in a hot, sweaty hug. Dave muttered something in the general direction of Kurt's ear but it was swallowed by the tangle of hair falling over his face.

"I'm sorry?" Kurt gasped, extracting himself and pushing his hair out of his eyes, "I didn't hear that."

"I said, what have you been up to?" Dave said in an overly-bright voice, his hand clamping down over Kurt's shoulder. Kurt swallowed and glances at the closet, a plan forming in his head.

"Dave, you know how you said I wouldn't be able to handle myself in the outside world? Well, I think I can prove to you that I can."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Kurt, we've had this conversation. I said no."

"But you haven't given me a chance to explain, so it's not fair—"

"Kurt. We're not talking about this. I have said you're not going outside, so you're _not_ going outside."

"If you'd just give me a chance, I can make you see—"

"No!" Dave shouted, "I said no, Kurt, you are _not_ going out of this tower!"

"That's not fair!" Kurt screamed right back, "You won't ever let me explain, I could have an amazing reason like—"

"_Kurt!_" Dave roared, flinging his arms in the air, "_How_ many times do I have to tell you _not_ to talk back?"

"I'm not a child!" Kurt said shrilly, "I'm not—"

What happened next Kurt didn't know. Either Dave threw the mug filled with pencils and pens against the wall or he swept it off Kurt's desk by accident, but the mug smashed against the wall loudly and Kurt flinched, stumbling away.

"Dammit," Dave said breathlessly, reaching out for Kurt's hand, "God, Kurt, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Kurt said sharply, curling his arms around his waist, "I'm fine. Mourning the loss of my favourite mug, but I'm fine."

Dave laughed, loud and fake. "Good. So, what do you feel like cooking for tonight?"

Not waiting for the answer, the man started towards the stairs and irritation clenched Kurt's fists at how easily Dave brushed their arguments off, as if Kurt's wants and needs were as insignificant as a bug. Unwilling to let the subject drop, Kurt opened his mouth again.

"Um, Dave? I have something to say."

Dave turned from where he was about to walk upstairs into their room. "What now? If this is about going outside..."

Kurt swallowed. He could push it, open the closet and show Dave what he did, prove that he could look after himself. But there was always the possibility that Dave still wouldn't let him go, would be adamant that Kurt was weak as a baby. Or he could back down, give it up, and fall back on his other plan. Which would only work if...

"No, no," Kurt said hastily, "I was just going to say I'd, um...I know what I'd like for my birthday?"

Dave arched an eyebrow, but his facial muscles weren't used to emotions other than rage and pride, so he just looked constipated. "What do you want?"

"I'd, uh, like some new material for my clothes. The...the navy blue silk chiffon?" he waved his hand lamely at his desk, "It...it would go really well with something I'm designing right now."

Both of Dave's eyebrows rose. "The stuff I bought from the other country? What's it called...Delton or deltoid or something. That place?"

"Yes," Kurt points at the half-finished spring-green cocktail dress on a hanger, "It would be the, um, the train for that dress. I thought it would be like...the sea."

"It's a three-day journey, Kurt, and I don't even know where I found the cloth last time. Are you sure you want it?"

Kurt nodded. "I do. This is my favourite design yet, and I really want it to be absolutely perfect. It would mean a lot to me."

Dave looked at Kurt's face—schooled into a perfect expression of hope and bashfulness, one he knew Dave couldn't resist—and cracked. "Ok, ok. I'll go. I'll be as quick as I can though, ok? Don't get up to anything without me," he chuckled and started towards the stairs, "I'll leave early tomorrow, get a good night's sleep tonight. That ok with you, spending your birthday alone?"

"That's fine," Kurt said brightly, and he couldn't help thinking _I won't be alone at all, oh no, I'll be with that boy in my closet—_and then he stopped the thoughts, as if Dave could hear them, but he was already walking up to their room.

Kurt spent the rest of the day in a pleasant haze, drifting about the tower with his heart beating out a tattoo on his chest, _I'm going to see the lights I'm going to see the lights I'm going to see the lights_.

He forgot that he had to make the boy agree to take him first, and the realisation hit him at ten at night, once he'd finished cleaning up the shards from the mug and Dave's snores were drifting down from their bedroom. He sat down rather heavily on the floor and stared out the window and felt _shocked_, wondering how he could be so stupid and narrow-minded and idiotic.

And then he looked over at the satchel hanging on the stairs—miraculously, Dave hadn't noticed it—and realised that he had a bargaining chip, a big one, and he could do this. He could make this happen.

Kurt opened his closet and peeled the clothes away from the boy's body, running his hands through the boy's hair to make sure there wasn't a gaping hole in his skull that would significantly impair his ability to take Kurt to the lights. There wasn't—there was a bump on the back of his head, one that must hurt like hell, so Kurt made a quick choice and folded a few of Dave's old shirts under the boy's head. Then, whispering a quick apology, he folded a gag out of his least favourite scarf (vomit-coloured, Dave had picked it up in a sea port and had claimed it 'matched Kurt's hair') and tied it over the boy's mouth. He couldn't risk Dave finding out about him.

Kurt scribbled a quick note on a piece of paper (_please don't freak out. I'll explain later_) and put it by his head, covering him with clothes again and backing out of the closet, shutting the doors firmly. He drags a chair across the floor and wedges it beneath the handles, effectively locking it shut.

Sighing, Kurt threw one last glance at the closet, tucked Pavarotti into his nest, and gathered his hair to climb up the stairs. He changed in their bathroom, went through his skincare routine slowly and methodically, and tried to stop his hands from shaking when he thought about the fact that tomorrow he would be _leaving his tower_ for the first time in his _entire life_.

Dave was snoring even louder when Kurt eventually hauled his hair through the door at quarter to eleven and piled it beside his side of the bed, picking idly at the scabs forming on his elbows. He lay down quietly, closed his eyes and tried to subdue the energy coursing through his body at the thought of leaving, of seeing the lights.

Surprisingly, it didn't take much, and within five minutes he'd fallen asleep.

Kurt woke up tangled in his hair, as usual, and also to Dave shaking him gently and whispering "Wake up, sweetie," in his ear. Kurt groaned and rolled away, uncocooning himself from his hair and sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"What's the time?" he yawned, covering his mouth with one hand, and Dave said "It's about half-five. I thought I'd wake you up so you could do lunches, ok?"

Kurt nodded and got up, shivering as the cold morning air hit him. He grabbed a button-up sweatshirt from dresser (anything pull on required at least ten minutes of extracting his hair from the neck and was barely ever worth it) and shuffled down the stairs, curling his toes against the cool wooden floorboards. He ignored Dave's hands on his waist and started putting together a basket with enough food for four days, cutting bread and cheese on autopilot and not even bothering to scrub the carrots clean. It wasn't as if Dave would actually notice.

"You're a darling, baby," Dave said into his neck, and Kurt shrugged, his mind finally starting to put past events and future events together. He was going to see the floating lights. He was going to _see_ the _floating lights_. He was going to see the floating lights with an incredibly good-looking, probably chivalrous boy who—

Kurt stopped the train of thought there as his knife caught the end of his index finger. Hissing in pain, he sucked it hard and dropped the last of the bruised bananas into the basket, handing it hastily to Dave as he wrapped a piece of hair around his finger and began to sing softly.

"Are you ok, babe?" Dave asked, his arms coming around Kurt's waist and locking there, caging him in. Kurt nodded and muttered a non-committal noise in answer, struggling free and fetching Dave's travelling cloak from the hook by the window, tucking it securely over his shoulders and fastening the clasp with sleep-slow fingers.

"Sing for me one last time before I go?" Dave said, and Kurt stifled a yawn as he opened his mouth. He was off-key, a little rusty, but his hair glowed and filled the room with a bright light, and Dave tugged gently at the strands in some form of approval.

Kurt stood still as Dave kissed his cheek and walked towards the window, tugging Kurt's hair with him. The slender boy gripped the tangled mess as it was pushed through the hook that supported it, and he smiled sleepily down at Dave as the man slid down the golden-brown strands.

"I'll see you in three!" Dave shouted, "I love you!"

"See you!" Kurt called back, "I love you too!"

There was always something dark and not-quite right resonating in his chest when he said 'I love you' to Dave. Like he wasn't telling the truth. Like he was hiding something.

Kurt brushed it off and went to make himself some tea.

Half an hour later, he was dressed and warm and standing in front of the closet, holding his frying pan in one hand and the chair in the other. Swallowing, he inched the door open marginally and pressed his eye to the crack.

The boy was still asleep on the floor, his mouth open and a line of drool dripping steadily onto the rough material of Dave's shirt. Kurt pulled it open the rest of the way and moved the chair into the centre of the room, making sure it was steady and wouldn't rock.

Then he tiptoed back across the floor and shifted his clothes off the boy's chest, getting his arms firmly under the boy's arms and _hauling_ him upright, not expecting the sudden weight of his chest and head flopping suddenly against Kurt. Struggling to keep his feet under him, Kurt shuffle-dragged the boy across the room and dropped him into the seat, arranging his arms and legs carefully and passing it off to Pavarotti (who had woken around the point of the boy falling on Kurt) as "Just making sure I'll be able to tie him up properly, I'm not just using it was an excuse to touch him, be _quiet_."

Grabbing the end of his hair in one hand, he starts at the boy's feet and works upwards, tying him firmly and tightly to the chair and tugging at his hair every few minutes, checking it's not unravelling. Once he reaches his hands the boy's arm slips and rakes down Kurt's chest, making him screech and leap backwards in shock. A minute of shocked silence and harsh breathing confirms that yes, it was just a slip, the boy isn't awake and he's safe. Kurt proceeded carefully after that, his hand placed over the boy's to make sure it didn't slip. And he most certainly didn't notice the fact that he had really nice, calloused, tanned hands at all. Not even a little, tiny bit.

Finally, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Pavarotti fluttered to his shoulder and whistled his appreciation; the complicated knots of hair securing the boy's legs and arms to the chair looked impossible to undo.

"I think we're done," Kurt announced, "I think I can wake him up now. Or at least, I can try. Um. How do I do this?"

He puzzled for a moment, twisting his fingers together in the hem of his shirt, and then moved forwards to wraps more of his hair around the boy's head. Taking a breath, he recited the words of the song quietly, moving backwards slowly as his hair began to glow. His hands shook as he situated himself in the shadows of the room and his hair fell from the boy's head onto the floor.

"C'mon, wake up," he whispered, folding his arms tight across his chest, "Come _on_. Wake up!"

The boy stirred slightly, his head rolling on his neck and a tiny groan escaping his chest. Slowly, he lifted his head and baffled hazel eyes blinked twice, scanning the room nervously.

"Where...where am I?"

**

A/N part deux:

Wow, it took me a while to get here D: I'm sorry everyone! I've got all the chapters planned out though, so I should be updating about once every week from now on until the story's finished. But anyway, thank you if you waited around this long for chapter four! Comments are much appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Wow, does anyone remember this? I doubt it. So many apologies for how long it took-I'll spare you the excuses. All the love to Ming, my beta, who threatened me until I finally got this finished. And also, as I seem to keep forgetting to add this in-thank you to everyone on who has been reviewing and alerting this story :) I appreciate every one of you, even if I may forget to reply to your reviews! 

Blaine blinked slowly, tried to lift a hand to rub his eyes. The tower-and he was still in the tower, wasn't he?-was quiet, the only sound his breathing and the creaking of the chair he was sitting on. His arm wouldn't move, it was weighed down or _something_, and he glanced down to see something thick and golden tying him tight to the chair.

"What the...what kind of rope is this?" he muttered, trying to wriggle his arm free, but it was tied tight. The rope looked silky, like it was made up of millions of tiny strings, tangled and twined together. It looked like...like _hair_.

"Oh my god, I'm tied up with hair," he said abstractly, tugging harder at his arm, and then "Oh my _god_, what the-hello? Is there someone here? _Hello_?"

There was the sound of footsteps, tentative and stumbling, and then the hair leading away from his chair jerked and tightened around his wrist as someone toppled to the floor, sending a sturdy grey frying pan sliding across the ground and slamming into his foot.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Blaine called sharply, kicking at the pan as best as he could and straining his neck towards the figure on the ground. When they didn't move, he dropped his voice a little, tilting his head. "Are you okay? Do you need any help?"

"Who are you and how did you find me?" a voice-lilting and musical, shaky with either fear or excitement-asked, the person on the ground scrambling to their feet and inching towards the light streaming through the skylight.

"Are you alright?" Blaine repeated, trying to shuffle the chair forward a bit, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Don't _move_. I have a frying pan and I will _not_hesitate to use it."

Blaine jerked his head towards the direction of the frying pan on the floor, smirking. "That one over there?"

"Oh, well. I had one."

"Please, feel free to recollect it," Blaine drawled, settling back into his role of Brynn Rider, thief extraordinaire and hoping to catch a glimpse of the person imprisoning him. The person shuffled forward, into the light, and _what the heck how long is their hair_.

The boy-and it was a boy, Blaine was sure-picked up the frying pan and pointed it at him, lips pressed thinly into a line. He squinted at Blaine, gestured at him with the pan. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm Brynn Rider," Blaine puffed out his chest as best as he could with a ton of hair resting on it, "Thief extraordinaire-"

"Are you here to steal my hair?" he jabbed his weapon at Blaine's face, "You are, aren't you. You're going to steal my hair."

"Why would I-_why_would I want your hair?" Blaine jerked his head away from the pan and wrinkled his nose.

"Because it's magical and awesome and I have fabulous hair."

"Sure. Magical hair, that's a new one."

"No, it is," the boy looked frustrated, and he sniffed. "You have no right to judge me. Your hair's hard as plastic."

"Whoa there."

He made a disgruntled noise. "Just tell me what you're doing here!"

"I was just trying to find somewhere to hide, alright?" Blaine pulled at his arms, "Can you untie me, please? I-I mean-untie me! Right now! And give me back my stuff. Speaking of which-where _is_my bag? Do you have it? Do you? Because I need that."

"I don't know what you're talking about." If the kid was acting he had a damn good poker face, Blaine could not tell if he was lying or not.

"You have it, don't you?" Blaine squinted at him. "You have it. Give it back. Where is it?"

The boy deflated a little, "Well-I sort of do. But you're not getting it until you agree with my terms!"

"What are your terms?" Blaine was starting to get a little desperate, "As long as they don't involve-I don't know, death, or extreme humiliation, I'm down with it as long as I get my bag back, okay?" his voice had become slightly high and hysterical and he slumped back in the chair, his wrists sore from trying to pull them free.

The boy shuffled on the spot, flicks his foot back to kick a chunk of hair away from his heels. "Well. I wish to employ an escort to take me to the place that has all the floating lights."

Blaine stared at him. "You what?"

"I want to go to the floating, singing lights," he repeated, "And since I can't get there myself-"

"Why can't you get there yourself?"

"That's not any of your business. And since I can't get there myself, I need someone to take me. So I'm employing you."

Blaine eyed him. "And then I'll get my stuff back?"

"Then you'll get your stuff back."

"Okay. Well. Actually. No. Because I kind of need that now, to go somewhere and give it to someone and things, so if you give it to me straight away-"

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" he asked sharply, and Blaine groaned.

"I'm a man of my word?" Blaine tried.

"You're a _thief_."

"I'm a thieving man of my word? I haven't stolen much, I promise."

"Take me to the lights and I swear on _my_word which is a good deal more reliable than yours that I will give you back you stuff the minute we re-enter the tower," the boy stopped to take a breath, "However if you dump me and attempt to find your stuff yourself you won't because this is my tower and you will have no chance of finding it without me."

Blaine sighed. "What if I say no all together?"

"Then. I'll-knock you over the head and drop you in the middle of nowhere."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Blaine sighed, hung his head._ If this kid wants to go see the floating lights_, he thought,_ it shouldn't be to hard to get him a damn boat, stay for twenty minutes and then head back. Either that or find a way to escape this **mountain** of hair. find my bag and get out myself._

"What's your name?"

The boy blinked. "Um. Kurt. Kurt-just Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt," Blaine turned on his Most Charming Smile, "I guess we have a deal."

Kurt arches an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Um. Yes?"

And a smile spread across his face, bright and wide and he clapped his hands together, said "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome?" Blaine said hopefully, "So, I just have to-dump you outside the city, say, and then wait for you to come back?"

Kurt frowned. "City? What city?"

"The city with the lights? Geez, have you never left this tower or something?"

"We're going to a city?" his face lit up and he grinned, "I didn't-wait, why can't you come in?"

Blaine shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh, I don't like crowded spaces. Ergo, I was going to your tower."

"You said you were trying to find somewhere to hide."

"Oh. I, uh, I did? Well. I'm trying to find somewhere to hide...away from crowded spaces?"

Kurt regarded him for a moment, then grabbed his hair and tugged sharply. Blaine yelped as he pitched forward, stopping only when Kurt's arm shot out to hold the chair.

"Do you want to tell me the truth anytime soon, or should I drop you out of the window?"

"Alright, alright, sorry!" Blaine craned his neck away, "Okay, I took something that they probably want back and I don't _really_want to get caught again, because then they would probably, um, hang me."

Kurt blinked. "Oh, well, okay, um. Is - we could just watch it from a tree, right? That would be okay?"

Blaine shrugged as best as he can. "Sure."

Kurt nodded. "Alright, well, I'm going to untie you now, Brynn. If you make a break for it, I've got-"

"A frying pan, yes, I know," Blaine smiled hopefully up at him, "Can I get out of this chair now? I kind of really need to pee."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Alright, fine. Are you sure you'll hold up on your end of the deal?"

"Certain," Blaine flashed him a wide smile, "I feel this will be the beginning of a wonderful friendship, Kurt."


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: thank you to my beta, Ming, and to everyone who commented on the last chapter :) thankfully this update didn't take nearly as long as the last one! Also, I have a tumblr at smooshysushi (dot) tumblr (dot) com, and a livejournal at smooshysushi (dot) livejournal (dot) com, where updates will probably come a little faster. Feel free to come and make friends!**

* * *

><p>"Okay, are you <em>sure<em> you want to do this? Feel free to back out at any time, I won't blame you. The outside world is a scary, scary place."

Kurt turned, eyed Brynn critically. "Are you trying to freak me out? Quit it. It's not working."

He sighed and shrugged. "Alright then. So...are we going? Anytime soon? Have you packed enough food? Water? Changes of scarves?"

Kurt glared at him. "If I'm leaving my tower for the very first time, I want to look good. Stop rushing me."

"Alright, alright," Brynn sat down heavily in the chair and rested his head on his open hand, "Seriously, though, when are you going to quit clucking? We can stay at inns. It's, like, a day and a half journey. You seriously do not need-are you taking that frying pan? Please don't take the frying pan."

Kurt hefted the frying pan defensively. "It's sturdy. I could attack ruffians with it."

Brynn covered his face with both hands. "_Jesus_, you speak like you're from a-never mind. Look, are you done?"

"Nearly!" Kurt trilled, whistling and stretching out a hand as Pavarotti _finally_ emerged from his hiding place behind the clock, tweeting and fluttering across the room to land neatly on Kurt's finger.

Brynn straightened, looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? You're friends with a bird?"

"He's not just a bird," Kurt stroked his pinky lightly over Pav's head, "He's my friend. I've known him for years."

"You've known a-okay. Okay, that's fine." Brynn nodded, "Okay, no, that's fine. But are we-are we going soon?"

Kurt sighed. "_Yes_, alright, I'm ready now. We can...we can go." Pav hopped up his arm and perched on his shoulder, digging his feet in to stay anchored.

Brynn shot up from his seat. "_Awesome_. Is there an easier way to get out? Because I couldn't see any stairs when I was..."

"Breaking in."

"I prefer to use the term_ acquiring entrance_."

Kurt side-eyed him, then spun on his heel and started towards the window. "Not that I know of. Dave always comes in and out of the window, so-"

"Hold up a sec," Brynn followed him, "Who's Dave?"

"Oh, nobody," Kurt felt his heart pang a little at the lie and smiled brightly, "He brings me food and stuff sometimes, uses my hair to get in, so-" he hefted most of it through the hook and pushed the rest through the window, grunting a little with the effort, "Feel free to do the same."

He turned when there was no response, only to find Brynn standing there with his mouth half-open and his eyes fixed somewhere around Kurt's stomach area. "Brynn? Are you alright?"

He blinked, shook his head a little and nodded sharply. "Yes! Yes, fine, just-is that safe? The whole-using your hair as a rope sort of thing. Wouldn't it hurt your neck?"

Kurt side-eyed him again. "No, it's fine. I have strong neck muscles. Look, do you want to climb down with your arroows or do you want to use my hair?"

"Arroows?" Brynn arched an eyebrow, "Do you mean arrows?"

Kurt felt his cheeks go red. "Yes, that's what I said. Arrows." Damn. Just when everything was going well.

"No, you definitely said arroows, I heard you," he grins, "Are you one of those people who pronounces everything really weirdly? I knew one of those when I was a kid."

"No!" Kurt could feel his face heating up, "I just-I don't read aloud, okay? Sometimes I say things wrong. I'm _sorry_ if it offends you." He turned his back and started fussily tucking a few flyaway strands of hair through the hook hanging from the windowframe, willing the blood to leave his cheeks. Brynn shifted awkwardly behind him, said "Look-sorry I upset you. I didn't mean to. It was cute, alright? I thought it was cute. So I pointed it out. I won't do it again."

Kurt relaxed a little, untangled his fists from where they were tangled in his head and smiled as Pav chirped in his ear. "Well, are you using my hair to get out or not?"

Brynn stared at him. "I...okay. Yes. Sure. Are you going to drop and kill me or anything?"

"No! Of course not. Now hurry up, I thought you wanted to leave?"

Brynn inched towards him, stepped up onto the windowsill. "Okay. So do I just hold on and step off, or-"

"No, Brynn-!"

Brynn's foot slipped and he toppled backwards, grabbing two handfuls of Kurt's hair as he disappeared. Kurt stumbled forwards as his head was jerked towards the window, grabbing onto the frame and sticking his head out to scan the ground desperately.

"Brynn?" he shouted, "Are you-are you alive?"

"Just barely," he heard Brynn call faintly, "I think I might have broken something."

Kurt bit his lip, glanced around, and tucked his frying pan securely under his arm. "I'm coming down, roll out of the way!" he yelled, twining his arm around his hair and-_take a deep breath_-leaping, _oh dear god I just leaped out of my tower for the very first time in my entire life oh my god wait how do I stop-_

_THUMP._

"Oh, god," Brynn wheezed, "Oh god, I think you just broke m' ribs. Oh geez, 'm _dying_."

Kurt rolled off him, ignored his pained groan as the rest of his hair fell out of the window and half of it landed on him, spread-eagled his limbs out on the grass-_grass, this is grass, wow, it's scratchier than I thought it would be_-and dropped his face to the ground. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and fisted his hands, pulling up a clump of grass and crushing it between his fingers.

"Are you done? You're just lying there like a dead person. Quit pulling up grass," Brynn grumbled, poking his ribs with his toe. Kurt sighed, pushed himself up from the ground and picked up his frying pan from where it had fallen, promptly dropping it again to scramble over to the stream running by and coming to a stop knee-deep in water.

"Is this what a stream feels like?" he asked, "Is-it's cold. It's really cold. Is all water this cold?"

"Not everything comes heated, you know," Brynn said dryly, "Are you coming?"

"One second," Kurt closed his eyes and scrunched his toes in the gravel lining the bottom of the stream, then turned and leaped out, grinning. "So we're going?"

"Sure," Brynn nodded slowly, "Out there, through the ivy, I guess-"

Kurt was already running, Pavarotti gliding along beside him, and he crashed through the ivy at top speed-_it felt nothing like the fabric he'd cut up and hung from the door frame, sort of rough and then smooth too_-and paused to run his hand over a large boulder, stared up at the light filtering green through the trees and the flock of birds wheeling overhead. Pav chirped from his shoulder, launched himself up and away to join them, and Kurt let out a long breath of air.

"I'm _finally_ out," he mumbled breathlessly, "Oh my god, I made it. I'm _out_."

"Yes, you are," Brynn clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, "Scary, isn't it? Horrible?"

"It's _wonderful_!" Kurt clasped his hands to his chest, "It's wonderful. It's better than I ever dreamed it could be! This is going to be _amazing_!"

**_Twenty minutes later._**

"Oh my god, I can't do this," Kurt groaned, flopping down on the ground, "I can't, I feel-this is _horrible_, look, I have thorns in my feet!" He plucked helplessly at them and sighed.

Brynn knelt down, began to pick the thorns out of the pale sole of Kurt's foot. "Wanna go home?"

"No."

Brynn nodded. "Alright then."

**_Twenty minutes after that._**

"This is the _best_ idea ever!" Kurt yelled, dragging Brynn in a circle and kicking up clumps of grass as he went "Oh my god, I never want to go back! This is-it's so pretty, oh my god, can I live here? Look at the flowers! Do they all smell this good?"

**_Ten minutes after that._**

"This is the worst idea in the world," Kurt whined, dragging his feet after Brynn, "I have grass in my hair. _Grass_ in my _hair_, Brynn, do you know how long it will take me to get all of that out? It will take me ages! Oh my god, Dave is going to be heartbroken if I'm not there when he gets back..."

"I thought Dave was your vegetable guy or whatever?"

Kurt stumbled and stared at him. "Uh, yeah, no, he is. We-we have a special bond sort of thing. He-he brings me especially nice cucumbers."

Brynn side-eyed him. "Okay. Wanna go back home?"

"No thanks."

"Okay."

**_Some time after that._**

"This is _beautiful_," Kurt breathed, "I love it here. Can we stay?"

Brynn examined his nails, "I thought you wanted to go to the lights?"

Kurt's eyes blew wide. "Oh my god, I nearly forgot. Lets go, lets go, hurry up-!"

He froze in his tracks as a nearby bush rustled menacingly, as if someone was about to jump through it. Squeaking in fear, he scrambled to leap behind Blaine, his foot catching on Blaine's knee and pulling them both over.

"What is it?" he shrieked, "What is it? A thug? Ruffians? What-"

A small, fluffy rabbit hops out of the bush, twitches its nose at them, and continues across the path and into the undergrowth on the other side.

"Wow," Brynn said eventually, "Have you ever actually left your tower or do you just put that stuff on for laughs?"

"It gave me a fright," Kurt grumbled, "Just-can we hurry up? This place is creeping me out."

"Okay, then," Brynn slung an arm around Kurt's shoulder, "Well, I've got the perfect place. It's The Inn, just down the track from here, maybe three hours walk? Quaint place. Filled with...the quaint. They wear blazers and everything."

Kurt perked up. "Blazers?"

"Millions of 'em."

"What's it called?"

"The Inn."

"...just the inn?"

"People here are very original."

"Clearly."

Brynn squeezed his shoulder again. "Ready to go?"

Kurt nodded. "Okay then. Lead the way."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Roughly one hour earlier.<em>**

Dave groaned, swatted another _freaking_ fly away from his face and took another step through the putrid marshland that lay between the border to Dalton and him. He pulled his foot from it with a wet _shluck_ noise and sighed, glanced up at the sky.

_God, the things I do for Kurt._

There was a rustling from beside him and he paused, hand falling to the knife he always kept on his belt. Eyeing the bush, he inched towards it, drawing the knife from the sheath a little and-

A horse emerged from the undergrowth, sticks and leaves stuck in its mane and a disgruntled expression on its face. It stuck its neck out, snuffled at him and then shook it's head. He looked down at it's chest, saw with a growing feeling of dread the seal on the harness. A palace horse.

_Palace horses never, never come this far out. I've never known it, not once in my life._

_Oh, Jesus. Kurt._

Scrambling around, Dave pulled his foot out of the muck hastily and threw himself back towards the land, ignoring the confused look the horse sent his way as he set off at a sprint through the woods.

Panting, Dave drew up to the tower with shaky legs and a dry, aching throat. Doubling over for a moment to catch his breath, he looked up to the darkened window and shouted "Kurt! Kurt? Let down your hair!"

Silence.

"Oh, for-_Kurt!_ Kurt, let down your hair, _please-_-"

More silence.

Dave dropped his bag, sprinted around to the side of the tower and tore at the ivy desperately, exposing a blocked-up doorway which had once been a passage up to the tower, frequented by Kurt and _that old woman_ before Dave came to look after him and blocked it up for his own safety. Dragging a loose-looking stone out of its place, he crushed his hand through and tore a few smaller ones out of the wall, slowly but surely demolishing it. Gasping, he ripped the last brick out of the way and shoved himself through the gap, almost tripping over his own feet as he sprinted up the old stone stairs, brushing cobwebs from his face and dragging sharp breaths through his teeth until he reached the top, slamming his fists against the hatch until it burst open.

Hauling himself through, he looked around wildly. The candles were blown out, there was no singing coming from the bedroom, and Kurt's weird dress-holder things hadn't been moved into the middle of the floor like they usually were. It looked mostly the same as it had that morning.

"Kurt?" he called, "Kurt, are you there?_ Kurt?_"

No reply. Dave moved through the tower like a whirlwind, throwing things aside and overturning tables in his desperation to find Kurt. He ripped the curtains away from their bed, threw open the trunk filled with fabrics and nearly took the doors off Kurt's wardrobe ripping them open. And there he found a note in Kurt's neat cursive and a shirt folded neatly on the floor.

_What?_

Standing, Dave left the room and trudged across the floor, glancing from side to side in an effort to work out where the _hell_ Kurt could have gone apart from out of the tower, he would _never_ go out of the tower-

Blinking, Dave raised a hand against the light shining suddenly against his eyes. Twisting away, he squinted at the crack in the stairs where something bright was reflecting the light from outside. Inching towards it, he shoved up the step that was blocking it and swore as a delicate, intricate crown was revealed.

"Christ," Dave hissed, lifting it up and angling it in the light, "How much would you get for this? A million? _Christ_."

He reached into the stairs again, withdrew a battered leather satchel. Frowning, he opened it and pulled out a crumpled poster, with a picture of a man with a pair of frankly terrifying eyebrows drawn crudely on the front. _Brynn Rider_, it read, _wanted for thievery, dead or alive. Reward: $100 thousand._

_One-hundred-thousand dollars is a lot of money,_ Dave thought absently, turning the poster over in his hands, before-

_What is this doing in our tower? Under the stairs? In a place that I don't know about?_

His stomach dropped to somewhere around his toes and he swallowed hard, stood up to look around the trashed room. He could see where things had been removed from their usual spaces, where Kurt's favourite clothes were missing from his wardrobe and the fruit bowl was empty.

_No. He wouldn't. He wouldn't leave, not with...he wouldn't. What if he's been captured? That would make sense. But his clothes...and food. And why would a thief leave something like this here? It's safe but...something that would cause a one-hundred-thousand bounty to be put on your head...I wouldn't leave it in a tower in the middle of nowhere. Only an idiot would. An idiot or someone who was planning to return soon after._

And suddenly it all made sense.

Kurt wanted to go to see the lights, Dave said no, but in the space between Dave leaving and returning he found something that he thought would change his mind. But he didn't say it, and then he sent Dave away to Deerfoot or whatever it was called and disappeared, leaving behind a crown and a wanted poster and taking food and clothes with him.

_Oh, god, Kurt. You didn't._

Dave dropped his head into his hands, groaned and shook his head. He wouldn't. His Kurt was smart, not about to go running off with some idiot with stupid eyebrows.

_Jesus._

He leaped up, grabbed his bag, and stuffed the poster into his pocket.

_Just because Kurt wanted to go with him doesn't mean he should have,_ he thought firmly, _I have to do this._

He lowered himself back through the hatch in the floor, trotted down the stairs as fast as he could without falling and climbed back through the hole in the wall, flicking through possible routes through the forest to the city.

_Probably best to head to The Inn, take it from there. They'll probably pass through at some point, knowing Kurt he'll be complaining about his feet a half-hour in._

* * *

><p><em>Now, there's something you have to know because I actually sort of forgot to tell you at the beginning. I know in most fairytales the parents are fine, y'know, they mourn their lost child and they hope and they mourn some more and they buy presents every birthday and stack them up in the child's room, and then they build a statue of the child and one day the child comes home safe and sound with frolicking lambs following them and it turns out that a well-meaning wolf stole them and raised them in a hut covered in moss with and ivy chimney and then they wake the wolf in and she dies heroically leaping in front of an arrow to save the child she raised.<em>

_This is not most fairytales._

_Now when Kurt went missing, you see, it broke his family's heart. His father joined the search parties, rode day and night searching for his child. His mother spent hours hunched over maps, putting pins in the places he could have been, and every birthday they released a lantern in the sky. It became a sort of tradition for the townspeople, and by the time Kurt's fifth birthday came around hundreds of lanterns were being released into the sky every year._

_Of course, they never found him. Kurt's kingdom and the kingdom of Dalton were having a-disagreement at the time, and the tower was close enough to the border that the search parties were uncomfortable going near that area, no matter the number of orders from higher-ups. And after a while, the search parties got less frequent, becoming monthly and then six-monthly and then yearly and then, when the queen got sick, they were abandoned all together._

_Kurt's mother died when he was eight. He didn't know of course, he wasn't going to know, but she did. The same thing that got her when she was pregnant, except this time there wasn't a cure and there wasn't Kurt and by the time they thought they could fix her she was cold in her bed. It broke his father a lot, more than he'd care to admit, and for a long time the kingdom fell into disrepair._

_Things changed around Kurt's tenth birthday. A few of the higher-up military advisers got together and tried to overthrow the king-it didn't work, of course, he might have been mourning but that didn't mean he was stupid. After that he got things back together again, fixed up what was wrong and built a huge mosaic on the side of the castle-his wife and Kurt. He didn't stop looking-they never did, but the searches weren't often and they never went more than a few miles away from the city. To be honest I think they were looking for a body more than they were looking for a child._

_When Kurt would have turned sixteen, the king suffered from some kind of illness-to this day I don't know what it was. They brought in the best nurses for round-the-clock care, and that is where he met Carole Hudson. Her husband was dead, as well-died in an ambush carrying goods from the neighbouring kingdom of Carmel. They hit it off immediately-or, as well as two people can when one's sick in a bed. They announced their plans to marry six months later, and with the marriage the king not only gained a new wife but a son as well._

_Finn Hudson was-nice, yes, and he was genuine and hopeful but he wasn't the brightest crayon in the pencilcase. Literally. All he ever wore were these hideous puffy brown vests which he swore were a fashion statement in some faraway land, but he got on well enough with the king and though he never quite replaced Kurt-or rather, the idea of him, it's hard to replace something you only knew for a short while-the ache in the king's heart where he missed his wife and his son got a little easier to bear each day._

_And so life went on. The lanterns were released without fail, but each year the memory of Kurt got a little fainter, and each year the king went a little longer without wondering where he was._


End file.
